Episode I: Bond
by rerum novarum
Summary: Set in the Star Wars universe, early in the Clone Wars. Clone pilots battle the CIS in many exciting battles. I'm hoping to make a trilogy of this story. The second story will be an explanation of things left unanswered in this; the last will conclude it.
1. Chapter 1

"Wake up, rookie."

O'Hara, the squadron leader, was getting irritated at the rookie pilot, Ambrose, who was napping in his cockpit through the trip through hyperspace.

"I'm up. I'm up," said the rookie pilot as he waved away the captain.

"Hee hee, next time you should just hit him, no warning," said Pete. Pete pulled a cigarette from his pocket and put it in his mouth.

"Stow it lieutenant and the contraband too."

Pete rolled his eyes and put the cigarette back in his pocket without a word; he knew what happened when he didn't listen to O'Hara: he swore like a drunken sailor.

O'Hara, Pete, and Ambrose were an Eta-7b clone fighter squadron, called Zulu squadron, aboard the Republic carrier _Solace_. O'Hara was a veteran and Pete and Ambrose were new, Ambrose being the newest pilot. They piloted a three-man squadron of Eta-7b's, which were different from the Etas that the Jedi were famous for piloting. The 7b's were a little bulkier as they had light deflector shields and a small payload of multi-purpose rockets. They weren't as maneuverable as the standard Etas, but most pilots preferred the 7b because of the deflector shield, regardless of the slight loss of maneuverability. Commanders liked the 7b for its longevity in the field: the 7b had a lower casualty rate than the standard Eta.

"Deceleration from hyper space in 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . .," blared the intercom. Pilots rushed to their fighters and the hiss of cockpits filled the air. "7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . ." The rumble of fighter engines grew louder and louder. "4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . deceleration complete."

"This is it boys!" yelled O'Hara over the COM link.

The hangar bay doors rattled open and fighters gushed out of the gap, reminiscent of the way blood gushes out a wound. Zulu squadron leveled out and saw the battle that had already ensued. A Republic fleet had engaged a larger Confederate fleet and 192nd Fleet was called in to assist 76th Fleet in the battle.

The fighter squadrons rolled under their fleet to avoid turbolaser fire from the battleships of 192nd Fleet. Soon they were spread out in the open space in between the three fleets.

"Open S-foils," said O'Hara.

"Roger. S-foils open."

"Roger. S-foils open."

"Accelerate to attack speed and engage any bombers attacking 76th Fleet." Ambrose's R2 unit began whistling excitedly and Ambrose found out why. "Goddammit, vulture droids!" Vulture droids were dangerously speeding towards the recently released fighters, guns ablazing. "Break formation, but stay on course. We have to protect those cruisers if we are to win this battle!"

Zulu squadron rolled left and right, firing their lasers at the incoming vulture droids. R2-W6 whistled excitedly as Ambrose sped into combat. "This is it R2!"

The droids deftly turned around and followed the fighter squadrons. Ambrose could see on his radar that he had picked up four fighters on his tail. Ambrose subconsciously went left towards the Confederate fleet while O'Hara, Pete and most of the other fighter squadrons headed towards 76th fleet; the four vulture droids followed him.

"What the hell do you think you doing, rookie?" yelled O'Hara over the COM link.

"I'm trying to drag some of these droids away from the cruisers and, hell, maybe I'll take a couple down with me in the process."

O'Hara sighed, "Go ahead, and try to take down more than those four clankers, rookie."

"Roger that." Ambrose went out on a gut feeling. In basic, he was taught not to go with gut feelings full of the bravado that the one he had was full of. R2-W6 tried to question Ambrose. "We're just doing our jobs, fight and don't question it, unfortunately." Ambrose and all the other clones were referred to by the rest of the galaxy as organic battle droids: soldiers who will go on suicide missions without complaining. The clones normally didn't find any of this unpleasent, but that was the way they were bred.

The vulture droids caught up with Ambrose and proceeded to fire their lasers at him. Ambrose nimbly dodged and accelerated. Though the vulture droids were a trouble, Ambrose avoided a large problem by singularly flying into the Confederate fleet: flak guns. The Confederate fleet was too preoccupied with the combined Republic fleets. The vulture droids collectively fired several rockets at Ambrose. R2-W6 beeped and whistled excitedly, almost fearfully, at the sight of this. "I see 'em R2." Ambrose had reached the Confederate fleet with the missiles and the vulture droids closing in. Ambrose cut and weaved almost on top of Confederate ships around terminal and antennae hoping to lose a few missiles while taking a couple shots at whatever he thought might be important. While closely passing a command terminal of a frigate, three missiles caught the base of the tower, while the frigate was unshielded. The frigate was basically dead in space and internal explosions ripped it apart although not completely. A few missiles remained. He saw a cylindrical destroyer and formulated a quick plan that he knew was full of holes, but he made it this far, he thought. He made a tight loop around the cylindrical mid-section of the destroyer. The missiles lazily followed, but crashed into two of the four vultures that had managed to catch up. The debris of the vultures hurtled harmlessly into the shielded hull of the destroyer.

Ambrose sighed a sigh of relief, but he new he was far away from finished, "Two more R2, but I'm running out of ideas and . . . ."

"YEE-HAW!" blasted a voice over the COM link. The two remaining vulture droids were hit by lasers and exploded. "You thought I was just going to let you take all the glory, didn't Ya?"

"Pete! What the hell? You do know what's going to happen when O'Hara finds out you're here, right?"

"Yah yah, he's going to swear like a drunken . . ." A voice on the COM link cut them off.

"Hey, you two . . . ." The COM link was full of static, "Get your asses back here, NOW!" The COM link was cut off and static filled the silent cockpit.

"Sounds like O'Hara."

"Let's give those clankers a reason to come back here, eh Ambrose?"

A smirk spread across Ambrose's face, "Let's." R2-W6 whimpered at the sound of this.


	2. Chapter 2

"Arm the missiles R2," said Ambrose. R2-W6 immediately complied and six small lights blinked on a small screen. "Alright, Pete, find a Cruiser or a Carrier. If we can do enough damage, we might be able to draw away some of the fighters."

"Roger that." They craned their necks in their cockpits, looking for a suitable target. "I see a cruiser right in front of us. It looks important, it looks unscathed. Shall we fix that?" Pete jokingly asked. The cruiser was long sleek and cylindrical, as most Confederate ships were.

"Let's move in." Ambrose and Pete steered their Etas below the CIS fleet to avoid turbolaser shots, explosions, and overall detection. Avoiding the explosions was an especially difficult task in itself. "Aim for the engines; if we do enough damage, the cruiser will go critical, hopefully."

"Just concentrate the missiles where the engine meets the hull," said Pete. Several seconds passed before they were in range. "Fire!"

"Firing," repeated Ambrose. Four missiles, two from each pilot, sped quickly at their target. "Haha! Those clankers won't know what hit them," yelled Ambrose.

While the two pilots were celebrating the rockets detonated, but not on their target. Seven, previously ten, droid fighters swooped in front of the missiles' path. Four Tri-Fighter Droids and three Vulture Droids moved in on the two pilots.

"Damn them all to hell!" yelled Pete with great anger. The two pilots swerved out of the way of the droids as they hurtled towards them. "Look out, Ambrose. I saw some of those new Tri-Fighters."

"I see them." The two pilots accelerated away from the new threat as the new threat accelerated towards them. The droids followed the pilots precisely, trying to get a lock. A few droids blindly shot missiles to no avail, only to have them crash and detonate on their ships. The two pilots rolled around ships to try to lose the droids, but these droids were tricky. The droids tried another tactic: blindly firing lasers. An alarm blared in Ambrose's cockpit as multiple laser blasts hit him. R2-W6 was beeping and whistling at him scornfully. If it weren't for the deflector shields, Ambrose would have been killed. "Pete, reverse engines on my command."

"On _your_ command?" he asked questionably.

"Just do it."

Pete hesitated, "Roger." He didn't like taking commands from a rookie. He knew it wasn't natural for rookies to give commands to others who outranked the rookie, but 192nd Fleet in it entirety was not natural, not for clones.

192nd fleet was a fleet of abnormal misfits. The most obvious abnormality was the fact that some of the clones were women; an abnormality caused by an anomaly in the cloning process. Another abnormality was that all the clones acted like normal beings, not effected by some of the automated cloning processes that occurred to quell the individuality and independence that resided in most beings, not clones. No one on Kamino had the slightest clue what might have caused this malfunction in the cloning process. The cloners of Kamino found that disposing that population would be wasteful, seeing as how much it costs to raise as many misfits as there were. So the Kamino cloners dumped all the misfits into 192nd fleet, hoping that the Republic wouldn't know the difference. They didn't.

"On my command, R2." He veered in the direction of the port of a Confederate carrier. Massive turbolasers were firing in their direction. "On my mark . . ." They continued to speed towards the carrier with the droids on their tails, not missing a beat.

"Any time would be great, Ambrose," Pete said worryingly.

They were so close to the carrier that Ambrose could almost see the droids that loaded the turbolasers, loading the turbolasers. R2-W6 beeped with fear similar to the many time it had during the battle.

"Mark!" yelled Ambrose. The clones' Etas stopped immediately and, in reverse, backed towards the incoming droids The droids, which were accelerating dangerously throughout the chase, were too close to the carrier to maneuver out of the way. "You wanted to draw them away, Pete?" The seven remaining droids tore a big gash in the already battle-worn carrier. Internal explosions blasted bits of molten metal across space. If they weren't in the middle of a battle, Ambrose would sit and watch the carrier be torn apart.

The carrier, much like the frigate Ambrose had encountered earlier, was dead in space, except for a few internal explosions that rocked the hull. The carrier drifted by the Etas and the carrier's engines could be seen flickering on and off. The radar violently bleeped to warn that many, _many_, fighters were inbound, Confederate and Republic alike. They had done their job of diverting the droids' attention.

Flak guns began to fire as a sign for the two lone clone pilots to start moving again. They accelerated to dodge their newest threats. ARC-170s, V-wings, and other Etas rushed into battle, while being followed by their droid adversaries.

A less familiar voice sounded over the COM link clearly, "Sorry we're late. The counsel held us up a little longer than we would have liked. We hope you saved some clankers for us." The voice most likely came from the Republic Attack Cruiser that seemed completely separate from the rest of the fleet.

"Jedi," Pete mumbled almost with disgust, "wait for us to beat the CIS half to death, then they come in and beat them for the other half," he said. "Then, _they_ get all the credit," he added.

"At least the Jedi help," said Ambrose. "Remember how bad it was at Cret?"

"You make a fine point, but talk later, shoot now."

A voice came on the COM link with as much static as it did the first time, "You boys did good, but Pete, who the hell gave you permission to assist Ambrose?"

"I didn't think he'd be able to do it on his own, sir."

"Dammit," the COM link went to static for a brief moment, "just shoot the damn things, will ya?" the COM link finally was cut.

"We're on it, Captain," said Ambrose. He didn't know whether or not O'Hara heard this, but he assumed that O'Hara did naively; O'Hara's Eta was heavily damaged and without a sufficient COM link.


	3. Chapter 3

"Damn it!" O'Hara yelled. "I can't shake them!" He violently yelled in his cockpit although no one was listening. His COM link was heavily damaged by flak guns during the initial assault. His R2 unit was destroyed by a barrage of molten battle plate that nearly destroyed the Eta as well. The result of the barrage cracked the glass that separated O'Hara from the cold airless vacuum. Though cracks were minor, O'Hara could hear the faint hissing of atmosphere escaping the cockpit.

"I'm dead, I'm dead . . ." he repeated to himself. He was far from the safety of his carrier. In fact, the entire Confederate fleet separated him from the _Solace_. He sighed, "Damn it, I can't keep wasting air!"

He knew that if he took a hit of any kind, even the slightest tap, he would be killed. "Hell, if I shake it hard enough it'll fall apart," he cynically said to himself.

He keyed in a command into the COM system and shouted, "Mayday, mayday. My cockpit is cracked and my R2 unit is gone. Does anybody read me?" He listened, but nothing answered. He tried again, "Mayday, mayday. My cockpit is cracked and my R2 unit is gone. Does anybody read?" No one answered.

O'Hara's palms began to sweat and he felt a pressure on his neck that felt as if a wookie was holding him by the neck. "What is this?" he asked himself. He took his hands off of the controls in order to rub his neck. The pressure remained. He began to twitch. "Is this . . . fear?" he asked himself. "No. Fear is for civilians and rookies. I can't be afraid. I'm not afraid," he rationalized. Deep in the back of his mind he knew he was afraid.

Clones didn't fear, at least they weren't supposed to. When the Kamino cloners programmed the clones' DNA they removed emotions and qualities that might keep them from doing their duties: fear, love, attachment, individualism, disobedience, and even self-preservation. But of course, 192nd fleet clones were different in those ways as well as appearance. No one knew how those clones got to be so different. Whenever the clone army was mentioned, the topic of the 192nd came up. Opinions varied from hopeful to doubtful. Most notably, Chancellor Palpatine pushed for the clones to be terminated, but the Senate wouldn't allow the termination of such a large number of clones; the senate votes were almost unanimous.

O'Hara attempted to calm himself down: a fruitless effort. The Eta's engines were losing power. The Eta's console didn't warn him until the power reached a dangerous level. Even worse, a pack of Vulture droids spotted him. "Typical . . . ." he mumbled.

He accelerated with the Vulture droids following him. He dipped under ships leaving little space between the ships and his Eta. The Vultures followed his every move, but the nimble Eta could out-maneuver the Vultures. O'Hara saw this. He picked a cruiser and flew flush to the cruiser's long cylindrical hull. He knew that this maneuver would exploit the Vultures' disadvantage: the were more unwieldy than the Eta. The leader of the pack slammed into the cruiser and the others mindlessly flew through the debris. This cruiser had a flat curved head; "This is where I make my move," he thought. He maneuvered his Eta perfectly around the head; the Vultures didn't do as well. Their tail ends slammed into the curve of the head, exploding in a colorful plume of fire.

O'Hara relaxed slightly for a moment, but he was reminded that the Eta's engines were losing power. Nine percent of power remained. The _Solace_ or any Republic ship for that matter was anywhere near, and at that, O'Hara would have to avoid a myriad of droid ships, but he just didn't have the power. He would have to land on a Confederate ship.

"This is crazy. This is _suicide_!" He realized he had no other options. Making a run for the _Solace_ only meant being powerless in the middle of a war zone. If he landed in a Confederate hangar bay, he could probably find something that he was able to fly. "But all those battle droids," he told himself. He pushed his pessimistic thoughts out of his head.

He saw a carrier not too far away. The Eta's engines had only four percent of power left. He had only one shot at his flawed plan. He pushed the Eta's engines to full throttle; the engines lost power in seconds. He never realized that the Eta's engines hummed until they shut down. He sped wildly at his target, while thoughts of all possible reasons for failure passed through his head. It was too late for O'Hara to reconsider. As he neared the carrier, he realized that the angle at which he was coming at the cruiser with was undesirable, to say the least, and he was going way too fast. He entered the hangar bay and felt a soft rumble of atmosphere.

For a split second, O'Hara could see a pilot droid directly in front of him starring mindlessly. Involuntarily, he squeezed the triggers that fired the Eta's lasers at almost the exact same time as he hit the pilot droid. Before the twin shots could leave their respective barrels, O'Hara's Eta hit the floor crumpling the nose and laser barrels. The laser barrels shot sparks and plasma. The glass that had been cracked slightly in space, shattered in an instant. The damaged Eta erratically flew several meters and landed upside-down, and skidded across the hangar floor, spinning also. While violently spinning, the Eta crushed many pilot droids that had witnessed the dramatic entrance that had only happened moments earlier, and the Eta even knocked a Vulture droid off of its four "legs". The remaining glass of the Eta shattered and pinged all over the metal sides of the cockpit. Luckily, none of the glass was sharp enough to cut O'Hara, who was bracing himself against what remained of the cockpit which was crumpling as the nose of the Eta did. The Eta hit a supply box and flipped over wildly, almost throwing itself out the other side of the hangar. The Eta lost momentum and came to a literal screeching halt.

Terrified, O'Hara released himself from the belts that kept him from flying out of the erratic Eta and sprang out of the cockpit onto the Eta's crumpled nose. He patted his right hip for his DC-17 hand blaster. On his left hip, he had a single thermal detonator. Clone pilots usually never used these weapons, they were dubbed unnecessary. In O'Hara's case, they were the most necessary things in the galaxy.


	4. Chapter 4

O'Hara was crouching in a corner of a Confederate carrier. In his right hand, he held a DC-17 hand blaster. His left hand was shaking out of pure fear. He kept low to avoid being seen by battle droids that had survived his dramatic entrance. He cautiously leaned left and right to see whether or not the battle droids had become curious.

They had.

Twenty-three B1 battle droids approached O'Hara's horribly damaged Eta. The B1's moved their skeletal shaped frames in an undeniably mechanical manner. They rarely spoke, but when they did they spoke much like a protocol droid would: short, snappy sentences.

O'Hara was horribly outnumbered. If he took on the droids with just his DC-17, he would surely die. If he made a run for the nearest flyable vessel, either he or the vessel would be destroyed. He would have to use his only thermal detonator.

"I'll regret this later," he mumbled. He armed the detonator and softly threw it over his Eta. Before the detonator hit the ground he threw himself down. He heard a tiny clank; the detonator had hit the ground. "Boom." The detonator exploded, releasing great heat and force. The Eta half-heartedly lifted the side that was exposed to the explosion off the ground. O'Hara jumped up on what remained of his Eta and leveled his DC-17 with both hands. The droids had been blown away, but many droids remained at the far side of the hangar bay. "AHH!!!" He clutched his chest and fell to his knees. He felt a tremendous pain, but he wasn't hit by a blaster or any weapon for that matter. "The pressure. That damned cockpit," he groaned. He realized that the pressure that he was exposed to when his cockpit cracked did serious damage to his body.

The droids that were on the far side of the hangar bay heard him and promptly turned and began to fire their blasters. They were highly inaccurate at doing so though. They slowly made their way towards O'Hara who was still clutching his chest.

O'Hara scanned the hangar bay for something flyable. Nothing. He saw a door at the far end of the hangar bay. "Maybe I can find something in the other bays," he thought to himself. He began to sprint towards the door, but he was stopped by the tremendous pain in his chest. His sprint was reduced to a limping jog. While running, he recalled stories of the deadly rolling destroyer droids that he had heard from ground forces. He groaned at the mere thought of having to face one in his condition.

Blaster fire flew in his general direction wildly. No shot were even close, but they were getting closer as the droids marched towards the direction O'Hara was running.

The pain in his chest seemed to grow as he neared the door. He got closer and closer until he leaped in the doorway. The droids turned to, but he shut and locked the mechanical door. He turned to look down the corridor only to stare in the faces of three B1's.

"Don't move," a B1 said in its mechanical voice. O'Hara disobeyed that command. He grabbed the leader's head and dove for the ground on the droids' left side. As he did this he twisted and snapped the leader's head off and sparks were emitted from wires that were in its neck. He lied on the ground held up by his right hand with his DC-17 in his left pointing at the nearest droids which hadn't turned to him yet. He took advantage of this and fired two shots which impaled the droids which crumpled and fell to the ground.

"Damn clanker." The pain in O'Hara's chest dramatically increased and he fell to the ground. He propped himself up against the wall of the corridor in order to soothe the pain. The pain decreased to an extent, but it still remained in little bouts. He knew that he would die if he didn't reach an infirmary. He had to get back to the _Solace_.

Suddenly he heard a hissing coming from the door from which he entered. "They're cutting it open," he mouthed. He got up onto his feet, but was thrown down by a great rumbling. The carrier was under heavy fire by turbolasers. He got back up and turned around to view the droids' progress at cutting open the door. They were half of the way there.

He ran towards the door on the far end of the corridor. Another rumbling threw O'Hara against the wall, but he braced himself and continued running. He punched the panel that opened and closed the door and it shot open. He ran out onto a small platform. Another B1 was pacing on the platform. O'Hara shot it with his DC-17 twice and the B1 fell to the ground. O'Hara launched himself off of the platform like a cat and landed in a roll. He quickly got back to his feet. Immediately, he saw a Belbullab-22 Starfighter a few meters in front of him.

Belbullabs weren't droids as Vulture droids were; Belbullabs could be piloted by anyone. This was t be O'Hara's means of escape. He sprinted as fast as he could, ignoring the pain in his chest. He leapt onto the Belbullab's left side and slung himself inside. He briefly studied the controls; they were not unlike the controls of a V-wing. O'Hara had never flown an actual V-wing, but he had done simulations during his training. He flipped a red switch and the cockpit sealed itself. He flipped another switch, but it was not the switch he was looking for; infrared flares shot in various directions off of the Belbullab's hull. O'Hara quickly flipped that switch off and flipped another. The Belbullab lifted off of the ground and crept out the hangar door. As O'Hara made his escape, he noticed something he hadn't realized when he was in the carrier; he was facing 192nd fleet directly.

"Good," O'Hara thought, "I have a straight shot at the _Solace_, if they don't try and blow me out of the sky first. He saw the _Solace _behind a few Acclamator II's. He harmlessly accelerated towards the _Solace_. The Republic warships ignored him because he was a single fighter and they had bigger problems.

"AHH, DAMN IT!" he yelled. The pain in his chest grew quickly. Because he jerked the Belbullab's controls, it swaggered and almost crashed into a cruiser's command tower. O'Hara regained control and steered his Belbullab into the _Solace_. He landed it with a skid and popped open the cockpit. "Medic!" he shouted. His voice was laced with deep pain. He fell to the ground of the _Solace's_ hangar bay as he passed out from the pain.


	5. Chapter 5

The hangar of the _Solace_ was alive with the blasting of music and chatter. Though the battle had been over for over an hour, reconnaissance fighters were still pulling into the hangar. The recon fighters combed the system for Confederate bases, hold outs, or ambushes waiting for the Republic fleet to let their guard down. Not today, the battle was over and won. Exhausted faces poked out of the fighters and the pilots lazily checked in.

Ambrose was resting in the cockpit of his Eta. He sighed and thumbed through reveries of the battle that had just ensued. He was tired and glad the day was done. When 192nd fleet pulled into the Corusant docks, they would be relieved of duty for days, maybe even a full week. Ambrose's R2 unit turned its head to face Ambrose and it tried to chat with him, Pete's R2 unit criticized and argued with Pete as he moved supply crates back and forth, "Yeah, I know, I know. What? I _did not_ screw up that roll, it was perfect!"

R2-W6 continued to chat with Ambrose, but he wasn't paying any attention; he was counting the number of droids he shot down. He jumped into W6's conversation mindlessly, "Twenty-six." W6 questioned him with a confused whistle. "Twenty-six," Ambrose repeated, "I shot down twenty-six droids." W6 was quite impressed. Ambrose pulled himself up so he could see Pete and asked, "How many did you shoot down, Pete?"

Pete swelled with pride. He puffed out his chest and a grin extended from ear to ear. "Twenty-four," he said. Ambrose snickered and snorted. "What are you laughing about?" Pete asked. "How many did you shoot down, wise guy?"

Ambrose took a breath and said, "Twenty-six, hot shot." All the pride that surrounded Pete, abruptly left him. His face turned pale, then red. Pete's R2 unit continued to criticize Pete even more.

"Humph, I'm just having an off day, that's all," he groaned. Pete returned to moving supply crates and Ambrose laid back again. He had a feeling like something wasn't quite right. He tried to return to his nap, but the PA came on.

"Clones CC-9002 and CR-7756 report to the sick bay ASAP," the PA blared.

"Those are our numbers, Ambrose," Pete said. "What the hell does sick bay want us for?" Ambrose shrugged and half-heartedly climbed out of the cockpit. Ambrose was tired, he couldn't think of any reason why they were called down to sick bay. He landed on the ground with a muffled thud, stretched and made his way to sick bay. "Hey, wait up, rookie," Pete yelled. He jogged to catch up with Ambrose who was lazily making his way towards the sick bay. They were walking side-by-side and they saw something they hadn't noticed before: a Belbullab was sitting in the hangar. It was battered and worn, but still in one stopped, looked at each other, and shrugged. They had only seen Belbullabs in combat, getting to look at a still one was a rare sight.

It was a short walk from the main hangar to sick bay. On the way, the two clones didn't talk at all aside from greeting a few friends. Something was nagging them from the back of their minds the whole way as if they forgot something. And then it hit them. Right before they opened the door to sick bay, "Where is O'Hara?" asked Ambrose. Pete looked at Ambrose dumbstruck as if he had never heard that name then he realized that neither of them had seen O'Hara since they broke formation in battle.

"You don't think he . . . could be in sick bay, do you?" Pete asked.

"I . . I . . I couldn't imagine _O'Hara_ of all people to be . . . wounded."

"Well, it would explain the Belbullab in the hangar."

"I don't see how O'Hara in sick bay explains that."

"We could just be here for some kind of check-up."

"Why didn't they call O'Hara down," Ambrose said. He was growing impatient, but he was afraid to open the door. Fear of the unknown is the greatest fear of them all.

"I suppose there is only one way to find out," Pete said, reluctantly peeking at the door. Ambrose was the first to move. He pushed the door control and the door opened with a hiss. Inside Ambrose could see medical apparatus, bacta tanks, and stretchers. Sick bay was bright. Fluorescent lights shone brightly and reflected off of the white and metallic surroundings. On one side of the room, a few doctors and nurses were quietly conversing; like the sick bay, their uniforms were white. On the other side, there was a doctor and a peculiar robed figure. The doctor and the robed figure were standing over a stretcher, but who was on the stretcher was obstructed by the robed figure. The doctor spotted Pete and Ambrose and motioned for them to come over.

They hesitated for a moment, but complied; Pete was the first to speak, "May I ask why we are here?" They found out as the person on the stretcher was revealed from behind the robed figure. It was a clone. He seemed a little older and a little more weathered tan most clones. His muscular body was outlined by the bed sheets that covered him. His head was shaved and tiny stubs of hair slightly colored his scalp. The clone was motionless, dead. Neither Pete or Ambrose instantly realized who was on the bed. Since they were clones it was almost impossible to differentiate one from another, but getting close to your team changed that. It took a second for Ambrose and Pete's minds to realize who it was. It was O'Hara and he was cold dead.


	6. Chapter 6

~ I apologize for the delay: viruses plagued my computer and I was rooting them out of my computer for the time between now and the last chapter ~

Neither Ambrose nor Pete could even fathom O'Hara's death. They both knew it would eventually occur, but they didn't want to believe.

"What . . . killed him," Pete asked.

The medic responded, "Well, there wasn't a _single_ thing that killed him. We found small shards of glass embedded in his arm; he bled out a good deal of blood. That's what we thought originally killed him, but when we took a closer look at his blood . . ."

"What was wrong with his blood?"

"It had bubbles in it, meaning he probably suffered from decompression. Decompression occurs when your body deals with a great change in pressure. It causes nausea, dizziness, headaches, and other injuries to the brain and spine. It's why we wear pressure suits on certain planets. We can't say for sure how he was exposed to a change in pressure since he didn't return in his original fighter, but we know it happened long before he returned."

"Hence the Belbullab," added Pete.

"Yes," responded the medic.

Ambrose was distraught and dizzy. He plopped himself down on the stretcher behind him with his hands on his knees. A million things were going through his head at that moment, but he couldn't focus on one of those things. He was breaking into a cold sweat. "How could this happen?" he asked himself over and over. The medic and Pete were talking, but Ambrose couldn't comprehend a word. He finally lifted his head and said, "It's my fault."

Pete heard this, sat next to Ambrose, and replied, "No, it's not."

"Yes it is. If I had stayed with the group instead of going off on my own he wouldn't be dead."

"No, it's more my fault than yours. I left after you when _I_ should have stayed with O'Hara. It's my fault"

"If you stayed with O'Hara, _I _would be dead on that stretcher, Pete."

Pete silently conceded defeat. Since he was the only focused mind of the two, it came to him first, "O'Hara is dead. Who's the squad leader now?" Ambrose lifted his head at this question, for he hadn't thought about that either.

The shrouded figure that Pete and Ambrose saw when they had entered stood up off the stretcher on the other side of O'Hara. She revealed her face which was obscured by her hood. She was a human. She was young, about twenty years old. Her hair and eyes were a plain brown. Her face was tanned and slightly weathered from battle. She wasn't short or tall, but she was still somewhat intimidating as she was a Jedi. She spoke, "That is where I come in."

"General! I – I' m sorry, I didn't see you," Pete stuttered as he leaped up and snapped a crisp salute. Ambrose rose slowly and snapped a salute also.

"At ease, clones. It's understandable lieutenant; the last time one of my comrades was killed, I was on the ground out cold," she said cracking a small smirk as she said it.

Pete was slightly puzzled at this, but asked, "I'm guessing you're our new squad leader."

"That is correct. We will be based on the _Incorruptible_, and . . ." she was interrupted by a beeping. She reached onto the side of her belt and pulled out a transmitter. She pushed a button and a hologram of another Jedi appeared.

"Serena, return to the ship. We're going home," he said.

"Yes, master. I'm on my way." She pushed another button and returned the transmitter to her belt. "That was my master. We are apparently leaving so gather your things and dock your fighters in the _Incorruptible_, quickly. I'm sorry we have to be so hasty in getting back; my master is . . . eager to return home."

"As we all are ma'am," replied Ambrose. Serena left in a hurry, leaving the two to pay, or rather botch together their last respects. Ambrose sighed, "There is not much we _can_ say."

"Let's just get out of here, I don't want get the General angry," Pete said. Ambrose took the lead more because he wanted to put this behind him quickly. He didn't want to dwell on the past too much. He knew O'Hara was proud and probably didn't want to be stood over and stared at. Pete followed him after his eyes lingered on O'Hara a little longer. Pete knew O'Hara best of all, but he was thinking the same things as Ambrose and knew that if he didn't leave at that moment he might stand there forever. He turned quickly and didn't look back.

"That was the General?" Ambrose asked.

"Yeah, one of the two in the fleet. You're new here so just to give you a heads-up, she is the nice one," Pete said.

"So the other is . . ." Ambrose searched for the right word.

"Blunt," Pete finished. "That's one way of putting it. Just don't get on his bad side."

They arrived at the hangar of the _Solace_ and looked around for what might be their last time. "She said that we should gather our things. Do you have things, Ambrose?" Pete asked.

"I've got nothing. What about you?"

"Just three cigars and a lighter for the end of the war. I feel a bit foolish; it seems like there will be no end," Pete said. He climbed into his cockpit and shut it.

Ambrose let out a snicker and closed his cockpit. He primed the engines and lifted off. R2 – W6 turned and questioned him. "We're being transferred to the _Incorruptible_, R2." R2 – W6 was excited about this and for a good reason.

The _Incorruptible_ was a massive Mandator – I. Mandators were incredibly rare in the Republic fleets. Only a few were known to exist. Chancellor Palpatine ordered the construction of tens of these star dreadnaughts, but the Galactic Senate wouldn't allow it for a number of reasons: they were incredibly expensive and funding for construction had to be cut and the Senate argued that an unwieldy ship such as the Mandator were less potent than the more nimble Republic attack cruisers because Mandators are several kilometers long. The Chancellor was ultimately unsuccessful, but the few Mandators that existed in the Republic were greatly envied by almost every commander who could contend for it and for very good reasons. Mandators were called star dreadnaughts for good reasons. They had the firepower to take on fifty Separatists without taking much of a beating, at least in a straight fight; if a more swift ship got behind it, the Mandator would take a minute and a half to turn to. Mandators' shields were very strong, but still susceptible to ion cannons. Mandators had the cargo space of ten Acclamators, which added greatly to its unwieldiness. It also carried a mix of smaller ships and corvettes in its larger bays.

Ambrose felt insignificant flying near the Mandator, but glad he would never be on the wrong side of that ship. A hologram appeared in front of him. It was a clone who asked, "Ensign Ambrose?"

"I am he," Ambrose responded.

"There is a hangar open on the port side. It is the open one so you can't miss it."

"I'm on my way," Ambrose responded. The hologram disappeared and Ambrose casually flew towards the port hangar: it was massive. Ambrose guessed that at least a hundred fighters could fit in it. There was a clone directing the fighters moving in and out of the hangar. He motioned for Ambrose to land on a landing zone behind another Eta, which Ambrose recognized as Pete's. Ambrose landed carefully and opened his cockpit.

Just as he shut the Eta down a clone commander called his name, "Ensign Ambrose! The Generals want you and the lieutenant on the bridge ASAP!"

"Busy busy busy," Ambrose repeated to himself.


	7. Chapter 7

It seemed to Ambrose as if the surprises of the day would never cease. First, he nearly died on several occasions in an intense battle. Second, a close friend and mentor died. And lastly, he was being called on by the general for an unknown reason. It seemed odd to him that he fear facing the general. He had no reason to be afraid, at least that he knew of, but there was always going to be that small part of him that was nervous, and the nervous side overpowered the logical side.

Ambrose was nervously toying with R2 – W6's circuitry when Pete put his hand on his shoulder and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah . . . yep, I'm ready," Ambrose replied. He had lied. Nothing could prepare him for this, he thought, though he couldn't understand why. It was probably because he was still brooding over O'Hara's death. Staring at O'Hara's dead body really shook him up. He had never seen a corpse before and he didn't think that he would ever have to since he was a pilot not a soldier.

The general was in the command tower of the _Incorruptible_. The command tower was perched up near the engines much like that of a Republic Attack Cruiser. Also the _Incorruptible_ was shaped like an arrow head: a thin triangular shape with a small protrusion at its "base". And as the _Incorruptible_ was on the outside, it was enormous on the inside.

They walked for a considerable amount of time to their destination. Pete was the first to speak, "What do you think the general wants?"

"That is what I've been thinking about. I can't think of anything rational."

"Neither can I." Pete momentarily paused. He softly spoke, "Listen, O'Hara dying wasn't your fault. I can tell your still feeling guilty about it; don't." Ambrose looked away. "I know it's hard losing a friend." He paused again and looked away. He looked up again and said, "Before you came along . . . there was another, a rookie like you. We got close, far too close. We knew we shouldn't have, but we did anyway," he was at the verge of tears.

Ambrose looked at Pete and asked, "What happened to him?"

"No."

"No? What do you mean no?"

"Not him, _her_."

"Oh . . . I see." Ambrose quickly contemplated whether he should go any further. He hastily decided and asked, "What happened to her?"

It took Pete a moment to gather himself together. Then he said, "To make a long story short, we were under heavy fire and she dropped back to cover my back . . . and I never saw her alive again." Pete paused. Ambrose wondered if he had finished, but he continued, "After it was all over, they collected all the bodies and fighters they could and they brought back her fighter or at least what was left of it. They put her on a stretcher before she was to be cremated and jettisoned. I stood where you stood not too long ago." He stopped walking and he was trembling. "I remember seeing her that last time. Her face that was usually filled with color was as pale as a ghost. I tried to touch her but she was frozen stiff, everything about her was frozen, her blood, her skin, her hair," he paused again and turned away from Ambrose. Ambrose hesitated and returned to Pete's side. Tears were slowly running down his face and he said, "Don't let your memories get ahold of you, kid. You'll always regret it.

Ambrose thought the whole story through his head again and a question popped up, "What was her name?"

"Amor," Pete responded. They stood where they were for many moments. Pete recovered and said, "We shouldn't keep the general waiting." He walked off and Ambrose followed him without saying a word.

They reached the elevator which brought them to the command center. Awe struck the two clones as it was very large and at that, full of commotion. There were two parts to the command tower. The foremost was the bridge of the _Incorruptible_. The bridge was larger than most, but it had all the same equipment and stations. At the center of the bridge was a data screen, which could present a two or three dimensional map of everything within the _Inncoruptible's_ short range sensors. In the center of the command tower was a command center. The command center was where the commanders of the 192nd would converse their strategies for battles that had taken place or are about to take place. That was where the general was.

The two walked up, snapped a salute, and Pete asked, "What is it that you called us for, general?"

The reason Ambrose feared facing the general was a good one. The general was a man of tremendous proportions. He stood six and a half feet tall. He could have weighed almost two-hundred fifty pounds. He was a very intimidating figure also; he had a face that seemed to be chiseled out of stone and his black eyes seemed as if they could dig deep into your soul.

He spoke in a very stern manner, "I have been expecting you for some time. What could have taken you so long?"

Ambrose tried to speak, but Pete was at it before Ambrose could say a word, "My R2 unit had been hit by some debris during the fight, general. I hope you understand."

"You are lying to me lieutenant, but that isn't important." Neither Ambrose nor Pete knew how he knew. "I believe introductions are in order; my name is Jedi Master Coda Ahiha," he motioned his arm towards the other general, "and I believe you've met my padawan . . ."

"Serena Nassa," she interrupted. She turned to her master and said, "This is Lieutenant Pete and Ensign Ambrose. They are ready to go whenever you are, master." Whatever she meant, neither Ambrose nor Pete knew.

"Alright," said Coda, "let's get started. We have discovered a previously unknown system which is rich in various raw materials. It is a perfect spot to set up a factory since it has been relatively untouched by miners, renegades, or other factions. Although it has been undiscovered by us until fairly recently, we do believe that it is secretly occupied by Separatist forces. If there is in fact a factory there, it is our job to scout out and destroy it. It is my understanding that you two have been trained to pilot S-5 stealth corvettes, am I right?"

"Yes, sir," Pete responded.

"Good, that is why I called you. Any questions?"

Ambrose was first to ask, "Why would we need to infiltrate and destroy this particular factory, sir?"

"It is a golden opportunity. First, security in the system is very thin so we can devote very few resources to this endeavor. Second, it is a major disadvantage to the Separatists to have a major factory destroyed. Third, it is believed that Separatist leaders are residing in this system so it would be another major blow."

Ambrose persisted with his questions, "But why a stealth corvette, sir?"

"If this system is as crucial as it's cracked up to be, reinforcements will show up very fast," Coda responded again. "Any more questions? Good. You have six hours to get some rest before we begin our mission tomorrow."


	8. Chapter 8

Both Ambrose and Pete slept for only four hours. "We would have been better off if we hadn't got any sleep at all," Ambrose thought to himself. They silently left the barracks and made their way to the mess hall. They each organized a tray of 'slop' as it was called by most clones and sat down at a table. There were few clones in the mess hall because they were still sleeping.

A few moments passed and neither of them spoke once. Pete tried to enforce some small talk, "This slop doesn't taste as bad when your still half asleep." Ambrose let out a half-hearted laugh.

"Still tastes like shit to me," he said.

"It's nutritious 'shit' and its not so bad once you get used to it either," Pete added.

"What do you think this slop is made of?" asked Ambrose.

"It's probably something that came out of the wrong end of a Hutt."

Ambrose gave him a look and jokingly asked, "Which end is the wrong end?"

Pete was about to answer, but he was interrupted by a clone captain, "Are you guys Lieutenant Pete and Ensign Ambrose?"

The two shot up, snapped a salute, and said, "We are, sir?"

"My name is Captain Dux, I will be accompanying you on your sabotage mission. I just came here to tell you to suit up in your combat gear, General's orders."

"Yes, sir."

Just as Dux was turning to leave, Pete asked, "Captain, why is General Ahiha always so up tight?"

Dux sat down and responded, "I really don't know for certain. He doesn't talk about it. I asked General Nassa, but she said she couldn't tell me much more than Ahiha would. What was strange was that General Nassa got a little upset after I asked her. Some of my men have come up with theories. The most believed theory is one that says the generals are connected with the anomalies of the 192nd. But that theory was swatted down by one of our commanders who said none of the Jedi knew of us until after we were genetically engineered. Other than that, we have no clue why the generals are the way they are."

"Speaking of our . . . differences, how could we have gotten like this?" Ambrose asked.

"No one knows, not even the cloners on Kamino. It must have been one hell of a glitch because the codes for the process are practically set it stone. The 192nd was basically on huge mistake. When the cloners found out, they couldn't dump the lot of us, because we're so damned expensive to make."

"Do you think that this could have been done on purpose as if someone _wanted_ us to be different as if we were to serve some kind of purpose?" Ambrose inquired.

Pete jumped in, "Our differences are only aesthetic as far as we can tell and what purpose would that serve."

"I don't know," responded Ambrose, "but what if it's an evil one or a suicidal one?"

"Ambrose, whether it's evil or not, you can choose to disobey it and do what you feel is right. That is what makes us superior to droids," he patted his chest, "we've got something in here."

They sat there for a few moments and Dux spoke again, "I've slowed you down long enough. Get ready and get to the command center where we will be briefed."

"Yes, sir," both Pete and Ambrose responded.

They unwillingly ate the rest of their 'slop' and left for their barracks. They found their combat gear. Their combat gear wasn't much different from a normal clone's combat gear, except for the extra artificial atmospheric equipment which would protect a clone from the harsh vacuum if the event ever occurred that they were exposed to vacuum. It also had standard blaster baffling armor plates which would probably become necessary in their upcoming mission.

On their way out, they stopped in the armory. They each grabbed a DC-15 carbine and holstered them. Ambrose grabbed to thermal detonators and Pete grabbed a concussion grenade and an EMP grenade. Pete also fitted his carbine with a small scope and said that he doesn't like getting too close to the enemy.

They quickly and silently made their way to the command center lest they be late. When they reached the command center, the small band of saboteurs had already organized. There were ten clones: eight regulars, a commander, and Dux. Also, Coda and Serena were there, sitting on the far side of the command center from where Pete and Ambrose were standing.

Pete and Ambrose silently sat down between some of the regulars. Moments later, Coda realized that everybody was there and stood up. He pushed a button on a holo-projector in the center of the command center and a transparent copy of a large solar system appeared. Coda started, "This a highly uncharted system in one of the farthest arms of the galaxy. Its planets are uninhabited by anything sentient as far as we know. It has been untouched by any factions other than the Separatists. We have evidence, which has recently been discovered, that in the most resource wealthy asteroid belts, there is a very large factory that in which resides possibly numerous leaders of the Separatists," he pressed another button and the holo-projector focused on the factory which dwarfed the asteroids that surrounded it. "We have been given the ok to destroy it."

One of the regulars asked, "How will we destroy it, sir?"

"The factory is similar to most Separatist factories so we should know where and how to strike. We will take with us several det-packs and place them on key structural points," the holo-projector made a cross-section of the factory and showed the key points that the general was talking about.

Ambrose realized something was missing to the plan and asked, "If there are Separatist leaders on this factory, what will we do with them if we manage to get ahold of them?"

Coda responded quickly as if he had anticipated the question, "We will take them prisoner, take them back to Corusant, and interrogate them in order to find more bases like this."

"What if everything _doesn't_ go according to plan?"

"Well, that is why we have this," he said. He pulled from his holster a small button. "This is a panic button. If we get into trouble, I'll push it and the cavalry will come in and force the Separatists to surrender."

The clone commander spoke for the first time, "Why can't we just bring in the fleet and destroy the bases with it?"

"If we were to bring in the fleet, a Separatist fleet would come in and fight us. I don't want to fight in an asteroid field; there would be too many casualties," he responded. He waited and asked, "Any more questions?" No one responded. "Get down to hangar bay C, double time it!"


	9. Chapter 9

Stealth Corvettes were medium tonnage vessels, most of their weight coming from the equipment stored inside the ship to prevent detection. Most of the weight certainly didn't come from the passengers as S-5 stealth corvettes had room for only ten passengers and two pilots, plus a cargo area. The rest of the ship's interior was devoted to its stealth systems, which ranged from electronic baffles to cloaking devices. Also, the S-5s were shaped somewhat like a turtle, the shell of which was shaped like a saucer with the body hidden inside the smooth shell and a small protruding head. This shape gave the S-5 extra concealment from radars. Although the S-5 was a medium tonnage vessel, it was dimensionally small since internal equipment was tightly packed into the S-5; simply put, the Kuati shipbuilders didn't have the comfort of the crew in mind when they designed this ship.

The group walked into a small hangar, which housed only their corvette. Outside the hangar, they could see part of the fleet mobilizing.

"The fleet will be following us until a certain checkpoint. They will standby just in case we need them," Coda said.

"How many ships will be following us, sir?"

"All the men and ships under my command will be a jump away, private," Coda answered. They were amazed by this. They hadn't realized the true gravity of the mission until Coda answered that question.

When they entered the corvette, they had to duck their heads a little due to the lack of space. In the middle of the corvette, were ten passenger seats, five on one side, and five on the other. The sides weren't more than five feet apart. The cockpit, at least, was a little less cramped, Ambrose thought. In the cockpit, there were six view screens, one for each direction. The walls seemed to be composed entirely of wires, buttons, and switches. It wasn't going to be a very pleasant trip; the clones said that they would prefer taking on some battle droids.

Pete ignited the engines. A faint hum and rumble resulted. The corvette lifted off of the ground, turned, and flew out of the hangar. "Whoa," exclaimed Pete, "those are a lot of ships!" The view screens became filled with Republic ships of all sizes: Venators, Acclamators, even Vindicators. As they separated from the fleet, even the massive Mandator was visible.

"The coordinates are preset in the nav-computer," Coda said over the PA. "Just put the ship into hyperdrive and we'll be on our way."

Pete engaged the hyperdrive and they were off. It wasn't long before they reached the first checkpoint. The first checkpoint was being patrolled by a few Republic ships. A few seconds after the corvette exited hyperspace, the fleet exited and surrounded the corvette as they did. The corvette broke out of the formation and prepared for the second jump. The following fleet organized itself behind them, the patrol with them. They did this three other times and at the end of the fifth jump Coda began to speak on the PA, "This is the last checkpoint. We're on our own now. Remember the panic buttons, but don't get trigger happy. Let's go."

Pete reluctantly engaged the hyper drive a sixth time. He stared at the port view screen which showed the safety of 192nd fleet and then it was gone. Pete looked at Ambrose seriously and said, "In case we don't make it back alive . . . . . I love you, Ambrose." Ambrose looked at him with the most confused face. They stared at each other until Pete couldn't take it anymore and start laughing uncontrollably. "I got you sooo bad," he inhaled deeply as he had lost all his breath. "You actually thought I was serious, didn't you?" He continued to laugh hysterically. Ambrose just turned away and gave him a left jab to the shoulder. Pete had that manner about him that made people less nervous when it was better that they weren't.

The rest of the trip was somewhat silent except for a few giggles from Pete. When they exited hyperspace, they weren't but a few kilometers from the asteroid belt. "We're going dark," said Ambrose. He engaged the stealth equipment and Pete began flying towards the asteroid belt.

Coda walked into the cockpit and propped himself up on the two seats. He pointed to the forward view screen and said, "See how the asteroids in this area here aren't moving and these are? That's where the factory is. They're projecting an energy field around the factory to keep the asteroids from crashing into it.

They could tell they entered the energy field because when they hit it, the corvette shook greatly. Pete jerking the controls kept them from hitting numerous asteroids.

"Increase engine power to one-hundred-fifty percent, lieutenant," Coda ordered.

"But sir, our stealth equipment will lose power and we'll be exposed," Pete responded.

"They'll just think we're a piece of speeding debris, lieutenant. Besides, we have more of a chance of getting caught at this speed with our stealth equipment, than at a normal speed without our stealth equipment."

"Yes, sir," Pete responded. He increased speed and they returned to their previous speed. Moments after, lights began flashing and sirens began wailing.

"Turn 'em off, ensign," ordered Coda. Ambrose turned the stealth equipment off and only the sound of the engines remained.

Several moments passed until the corvette began speeding much faster. "We're out of the energy field. I'm decelerating in 3, 2, 1, now," Pete said. The corvette again returned to its previous speed. They flew close enough to the factory that they were out of the energy field, but far enough away that they weren't rubbing on the factory.

"There," Coda pointed, "fly into that construction bay." Coda had ordered them to fly into a construction bay which was closed off by an energy field that separated the vacuum of space from the atmosphere of the inside of the factory. When they flew in, they saw the immense size of the factory; the construction bay ran the width of the factory and could house over a dozen ships in that certain bay. Along the walls were supply bays, which had large hovering droids mindlessly carrying materials to the scaffolding surrounding the incomplete ships. Pete picked a random supply bay and landed. The hiss of the hydraulic door filled the corvette. The clones left the corvette and stretched a little. The two Jedi were scanning the bay; they looked nervous.

"It's too quiet," Serena noted.


	10. Chapter 10

The two Jedi ignited their lightsabers. This being done, the clones prepared their blasters. A few clones took cover behind some nearby crates, but the clone commander, who hadn't spoken once, called them back to the group. She was a woman. When she turned her head to call the clones back, Ambrose could see the number one hundred twenty carved into her helmet.

"There is some danger here, in this room," Coda said in a low voice, "and it's waiting for us." Coda was speaking in a low ominous tone. It riled up a fear from the bottom of their hearts.

"Split up into groups of three," Serena said. "Three groups will go search, one will stay put with the ship." Serena, also, was speaking low, but her voice instilled less fear. "Sly, you're with me and Coda. Dux, Val, you two are with One Twenty. Boca, Ambrose, your with Pete. The rest of you stay with the ship. Let's move out."

The voice of Dux was heard on the helmet com-links, "Keep your com-links on and don't make any unnecessary noises." Tiny flashing acknowledgement lights flashed on their HUDs.

They moved silently and slowly to the tall maze of crates that they would have to secure. They judged that the exit of the supply bay was thirty meters from the first crate and the walls of crates were three meters high, which wouldn't allow them to see over very easily. They moved farther and farther apart. Pete's squad was on the left flank, the Jedi on the right, and One Twenty was going right down the middle. They put their backs up against the crates and waited for the all-clear-signal. Pete slowly turned in order to see down the left corridor. He edged slowly, gun first, and with a sudden burst of quickness, he jumped out. Nothing.

"Left corridor clear," said Pete. Acknowledgement lights blinked.

"Center corridor clear."

"Right corridor clear."

Pete motioned for Boca and Ambrose to follow. Pete walked cautiously down the corridor. Boca followed on his left, Ambrose on his right. Pete walked a few meters and ordered them to halt and Pete put his back against the wall again, so did Boca and Ambrose. Pete looked down looked into a small hallway, looked back at them and said, "It's a dead-end. General, do you got a dead end on your corridor too?"

Coda's voice sounded, "Ya. This could cause problems."

Then One Twenty's voice sounded on the com-link, "All clear on the first hallway." Pete walked forward to the next hallway and saw them. The Jedi appeared soon after at the far end of the hallway.

"Move forward, men," Coda ordered.

The next hallway was also a dead-end, but the last on the left side. The Jedi found their last after the first hallway too.

They secured one hallway after another without finding any droids until they reached the wall. They met at the far end of the supply bay near the center corridor.

"Well, I guess there's nothing here," Dux said.

"No! I know there is something in here. I can feel it," Coda yelled. "I--," his eyes widened and he started running towards the men who were fortified around the ship, yelling, "GET DOWN! EVERYBODY GET DOWN!" Then all the sudden the rows of crates began exploding, starting with the crates closest to the ship. Coda threw open the door and pushed everyone into the hallway. The second they hit the ground, the last row of crates, which had been closest to them, exploded.

"AHH! DAMMIT!" It was One Twenty. She had impaled by a piece of molten metal in her right leg. The troubles hasn't passed yet.

"Freeze," ordered a monotonous voice. They lifted their heads to see a column of battle droids pointing their blasters. "Put your hands up." Only Coda and Serena followed this order, but when they did this, all battle droids were thrown up to the ceiling by an invisible force and fell to the ground in a cluttered mess.

"So _that's_ the mysterious power of the Jedi," one clone whispered.

They slowly got up; One Twenty had to be hoisted up onto Dux's shoulders. They left the hallway and made their way back to the ship. The door closed behind them with a hiss. The clones that were left there were pulling bits of crate off the corvette. They made their way through the clumps of sharp molten metal cautiously.

Coda spoke, "Serena and I will patch up One Twenty. Pete and Ambrose will check the corvette's system so we know whether or not we got a way out of here. The rest of you keep watch while we're occupied." Then he spoke in an ominous tone, "The Separatists obviously know were here. Don't let your guards down, otherwise were all dead." No one responded. The two Jedi then took One Twenty into the ship. Pete motioned Ambrose to follow him into the ship. The Jedi turned into the cargo hold. Pete and Ambrose didn't look but for a moment. They didn't feel the least bit safe anymore, especially not in the cramped cockpit.

They sat down and Pete turned to Ambrose to speak, "Ambrose," he sighed. Ambrose didn't expect a relaxing joke like earlier. "I'm a little worried. Uhh . . . I am afraid that . . . we might not actually make it back."

Ambrose sighed and replied, "I guess we'll see." He then turned on the ship-board computer. He then pushed a series of buttons to check the ship's systems. The systems were unscathed. "Try the engines now, Pete."

Pete reluctantly did this. He slowly ignited the engines. He brought the engines to higher and higher powers. When the engine power reached seventy five percent there was a BAM and the smell of smoke soon filled the air.

"NO NO NO NO!" Pete yelled. He ran as much as the size of the ship allowed him; Ambrose promptly followed him with a great feeling of despair. Pete was standing almost under the engine exhaust ports, staring. "Give me a boost up, Ambrose." Ambrose then lifted him up on his hands and Pete was looking directly into the exhaust port. He waved away smoke and examined its interior. ""Damn it to hell!"

"What is it?" questioned Coda who had ran out next to Ambrose.

"Bits of those crates fucked up the engines, general," Pete mumbled. "We can't push our engines past seventy five percent. If we do we'll burst into flames, assuming the engines will start again. Even if they do, once we hit that energy field, we'll be going nowhere fast. And even still, we'd be sitting ducks to just about anything and everything: fighters, explosions, asteroids, any way you put it, we're screwed."


End file.
